Night had drawn its veil over the garrison, yet inside, the halls did not sleep—they whispered. Distant voices of armored men, boots scraping against stone, the echo of power and suspicion traveling through every archway.
Baron Meliodas walked beside Aiden, his hands clasped behind his back in an effort to appear calm, though his every motion betrayed unease. The older man's eyes darted toward the corners of the hallway, toward every shadow that seemed too still, every sound too quiet.
Aiden noticed, of course. He always noticed.
When they turned a corner, the baron finally spoke, voice low and hoarse, like a man too weary of pretending.
"Do you not feel it, Aiden? The air itself is heavy tonight… it listens. I can almost hear their boots in the next hall." He paused, swallowing. "You walk as if you've never known fear. Even now—after all that has happened—all that is going to happen....how can you be so… calm?"
